


under a new sky

by dew_drops



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, M/M, Multi, Violence, i'll add as i go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9073828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dew_drops/pseuds/dew_drops
Summary: Hakyeon still wants to live.





	1. jingle all the way

It is the first Christmas of red on white, and the ugliest Hakyeon has ever experienced. 

The crunch beneath his feet is soft, and he looks around, steely gaze roaming, assessing the surroundings. It’s quiet around here, no human wail and no undead mumble, but it is getting lonely. He doesn’t even know where he is. At least not precisely, anyway. It must be the twenty-fifth of December if he calculated right, the thick layer of snow another factor in helping his theory. It’s so, so fucking damn cold. His breath comes out in vapors, welling up into the air - he stands out when around the fresh patches of snow, the ones that aren’t filthy yet or already muddy pools of water. So distinct, so vulnerable. Shit. He scoots down and scoops some of the snow to wash it against his face, the dirt smudge smearing on his cheek before eventually cleaning off. Everything must have been raided around the area because no matter how much he scavenged around there was nothing useful - a rusty, very, very blunt machete that didn’t cut through anything, a few rotten apples and some jewelry (which would have been useful any other time than a time when flesh-eating dead people existed). He blows another vapor of hot air out and a small chuckle follows it - it’s odd, how he’s been amusing himself with the pettiest of things. 

There’s a rustle to his left. Hakyeon stills, his hand hovering over his knife. Nothing happens, and he exhales, moving one step further before—there’s something slashing through the air and Hakyeon’s breath stops. 

The enraged dog barks close to his chest, Hakyeon catching his bearings quickly even as he had been slammed to the ground, his head hitting shredded tree branches, and he digs his nails into the dog’s tattered fur, ripping away chunks of flesh as he gropes for his knife. The blade shines for a second in front of his eyes before he drives it into the writhing animal’s head, tossing what was left of it away from his body with a huff seconds later. He sighs at his bloodied hand, dips it into the snow and washes off as much of the blood as he can. That was—close. Hakyeon breathes. It’s been a week since he ran into anything, anyone, living or not, and the encounter leaves him breathing a little faster, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

It’s turning to dusk soon, and Hakyeon dreads it. It’s too dark, and he can’t see anything, and he can’t make a fire for there is no assurance that nothing would be attracted to it. He could hide, but there is nothing in sight in the area that seems remotely decent for a hiding place. Maybe hiding in plain sight is the better alternative. It is unsettling — as he slumps on a cut tree’s trunk, the wetness seeping through his pants not deterring him, he thinks — that there was an infected dog around, and that could mean that other people could be around, or worse, the walkers. He digs for his knife again, fondling the blade sitting at his waist, tucked into a pocket that Hakyeon had sewn himself. It was too poor of a defense. He had to be so close to the walkers while he wielded it, and he knew how dangerous that was, but he was just so fucking unlucky—that darn blunt machete. 

Guns are scarce. He has yet to meet anyone who’d had one of those and didn’t work in a field that implied guns before. He isn’t a stranger to them, he has decent aim, but terrible luck in getting any. The greyish clouds over him are getting murkier, the night settling in with an uncomfortable, horrible silence. Hakyeon draws his knees up to chest, chin lowered and head resting on his knees, breaths calm, soft shivers wracking his body. He lets himself fall beside the tree trunk and on a patch of soiled snow, curling into himself. The temperature is still not awfully low yet that he can afford to fall asleep and not worry about not waking up tomorrow. He’ll have to find some place soon; his toes are frozen in his boots, his lips taking on a bluish tint as he succumbs to sleep. 

He wakes up startled, looking around with dread shining in his eyes before his breaths stop being so stuttered eventually, and his panic ebbs away. There are sun rays slipping through the branches, falling on his face and Hakyeon hums. Sunshine. It’s so cold and yet it warms him up, and he feels his lips curl up into the smallest of smiles. It’s a good day to move further. 

There’s still a smudge of blood on his fingers from yesterday, and his knee throbs when he walks faster, his head a little dizzy, mind not as clear as he would like. He might be catching a cold, and the thought aggravates him, because it would slow him down so much. He can’t slow down. But the more he walks, the harsher the air he inhales gets, or is it his throat getting sore? It feels prickly and his eyes water, he has to—move, but in the next moment he stops, huffing out a defeated breath and realizing a respite would probably be much better than pushing through and getting dizzy later, or worse, fainting. It’s been a while since he’s eaten anything and he’s weak, Hakyeon knows, but he’s also so stubborn. His stubbornness will have to step back this time. 

It’s the first time he looks around since he’s reached this area. There are still no houses in sight, the forest seemingly stretching on and on, but those trees look sturdier, their crowns richer. To sleep on a branch is surely not inviting, but it’s more of a tempting alternative than sleeping on the ground where something could get to him. There’s a severed arm meters away from him and Hakyeon’s thoughts flick back to the animal, and it’s with a few collected breaths that he manages to halt the panic from rushing in. His mind feels clearer, and he could try moving again soon, but he debates against it. It won’t be long before the darkness sets in. He really hates winter. 

His stomach growls and he gags, swallowing down afterwards. It’s alright, he can ignore it. The insistent pain of hunger is nothing compared to the feeling of dread that sank into him entirely. He wraps his arms around his belly, eyelids closing for barely a second before they snap open. 

A wail. 

Very faint, very soft. A cry. He tries to concentrate on it, heart pounding in fear when it gets louder. Louder and louder and louder and Hakyeon’s eyes frantically dart around—there’s nothing, there’s nothing— it’s only when it gets closer that he realizes it doesn’t belong to a person, it’s—

A man stumbles through the trees and Hakyeon brandishes his knife, trembling, but then he gets a closer look and he staggers back.

“Help me,” the man looks crazed, tears falling down his face, and in his arms, cradled safely— a baby, “please, please, help me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't necessarily a main plot to this. Whatever I write will be in the same universe, but it might not start off from where the last chapter finished. A zombie apocalypse AU feels so tired by now, doesn't it? But I wanted to give it a shot since I'm in some sort of love-hate relationship with The Walking Dead series. Any thoughts on my little prologue?


	2. sealed

The man doesn’t stop crying. His chest heaves in panic, and in between the thick waves of tears he takes huge rushes of air to avoid choking. Hakyeon has tried to pry the baby from his arms, the poor child who was crying incessantly, too, but the other man had scowled and pushed him away. He had asked for help, and was now deaf to any of Hakyeon’s questions.

This man is a danger, Hakyeon thinks, painfully aware that each and every one of his cries, louder than the other, might attract something. It will break his heart to leave him, but maybe he could take the kid and flee—

“Stop crying,” he tries again, and he thinks it’s fruitless again, the man not even flinching to his words, instead shaking harder with his sobs. “Stop crying and tell me,” he takes cautious steps towards him, and as much as he wants to yell and berate, scold for how needlessly careless the other man is, he knows something devastating must have happened to him, so much that he cannot cease the urge to just weep, something devastating and most likely recent. He can’t keep wondering, because as soon as light would creep in he would have to move again, and if the man wants to join him, they must talk. Tentatively, he squeezes the other’s shoulder and in reflex the man jumps, scaring the kid more. “It’s just me— it’s me,” he sighs, slumps down beside the other and forces himself to take on a kinder expression, there’s no need to aggravate him, “let me hold the baby, you’re distraught, you’re scaring him— or her.” He expects the distrust. There’s no way you can just put your trust in someone you’ve just met, especially during those times, but at the very least, the other man’s cries come to a halt. He doesn’t know if he can ask anything, of if the wounds are too fresh.

“Wonshik,” the man’s voice is raspy, and he looks as if he’s ready to burst into tears again; Hakyeon provides a wondering ‘hm?’ and cocks his head, “my name.”

“Hakyeon,” his voice sounds tired, but he’s thankful he managed to tug out some information, though it’s far from enough. He broaches something less personal instead, for now, but just as valuable knowledge.

"Got anything to defend yourself with?” As much as Hakyeon wants to help, he can’t fight for two more people with a measly knife. He’s terrified for his own life enough, and he doesn’t think he can take it if he were accountable for two more lives. Not anymore.

Wonshik gently rocks the baby in his arms, and it’s such a beautiful and grotesque image all the same, in this world of horror, that Hakyeon forces himself to look away. He swallows, holding Wonshik’s gaze instead.

“I lost my bat,” Wonshik murmurs, defeated, a feeling of apprehension slipping in because he knew people didn’t normally accept others trailing after them, defenseless, and Wonshik wanted to spite them, but he couldn’t.

Hakyeon flounders. He knows what the right decision is, he knows he should leave at sunup and look for shelter, he knows he should leave those people behind because they would slow him down and impair him, “I have a pair of old scissors,” he says instead, but doesn’t reach for it yet, disappointed at his weakness. Wonshik looks hopeful, and the bitter stripe on Hakyeon's tongue becomes duller.

“The baby.. ? Is it your daughter, your son?” Something changes in Wonshik’s eyes, and he squeezes the baby tighter to his chest, sucking in a shuddery breath. “My nephew.”

It clicks in Hakyeon’s mind and he falls silent. The baby looks very young, and if his guess is right, his mother must have been killed recently— it’s a wild guess, and he yearns to be wrong, but Wonshik kills all of the hope, despair unraveling at his words.

“I had to leave her behind,” Wonshik is crying again, but he’s far from wheezing like he had done earlier and Hakyeon moves, brushes his shoulder cautiously before his grip settles, “I shouldn’t have listened, but she was so weak, couldn’t stand on her own legs,” Hakyeon isn’t judging him, but Wonshik keeps talking, desperately, weighed down by immense guilt even if deep down he knows there was no other solution, “she pushed me away. She only saw him once and then pushed me away— they came from nowhere, there were so many, I panicked, I didn’t know what to do,” Hakyeon rubs his hand down his back for the paltriest comfort, and pities him, even though the grumble becomes unintelligible at some point. Frenzied until Wonshik stops again, the trails of tears drying on his face, and he slumps down on the ground, uncaring that it’s soiled with a mix of mold and dirty snow.

“Can I lie against you?” Hakyeon asks softly, he knows they all lack warmth and huddling together will at least shield the baby from the biting cold. Wonshik agrees with a last sob, and snuggles closer to Hakyeon as soon as they are pressed against each other. The baby is resting on his chest, eyes closed, looking so peaceful and blissfully unaware of the destruction and terror that’s surrounding him.

“Is this place safe?”

“It’s an open space,” Hakyeon replies, and instantly feels a little regretful that he responded to it sarcastically, “I suppose not. I’d arrived here not long before you found me.”

“Are you moving tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

It’s there, the underlying question, but Wonshik doesn’t dare, _are you taking us with you_ , he says it about a dozen times in his mind but never aloud. In a moment, he realizes how reckless he’d been. Asking for help from a stranger that could have very well been a madman, or someone that could have taken advantage of him in some way, someone that could have hurt him or his nephew. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, but he becomes aware of how lucky he had been, anxiety lessening. It doesn’t mean he will let his guard down.

“What’s his name?” Hakyeon’s voice pierces through the air, rough, but somehow comforting.

“She wanted to name him after the man she loved most,” Wonshik replies, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, a blend of feelings making his chest feel stuffy, “Sanghyuk. His name is Sanghyuk.”

“Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon parrots, placing a hand delicately on the baby’s head crown. He looks up at Wonshik, and for a second he thinks he must be insane, even entertaining the thought of those people journeying and scavenging with him when he knows that it’s foolish.

“Can you even sleep?” Wonshik interrupts his thoughts. He takes a moment to think about it and shakes his head eventually, “Not really. Just when my body is so exhausted that it has to shut down for a while. I think I’m getting sick,” Wonshik eyes him alarmed, but Hakyeon dispels his fright, “just a cold, probably. I’m praying I don’t.”

“You’re still praying?” Hakyeon feels hopeless. He guesses not. He has never been a religious person, and with the chaos and abomination that has taken over the world, there was no use to fool yourself with such petty and useless things as faith. He burrows closer to Wonshik, as much as he allows it, and feels himself shiver to his bones. “If there was ever a god, he has abandoned us.”

“An apocalypse,” Wonshik whispers, “riddance of the people for a sinless world.”

“Children aren’t sinful.”

“No, they aren’t,” Wonshik agrees, bitterness laced with defeat thickening his tone.

 

 

Silence shrouds them, and Hakyeon feels confused, a million of thoughts bouncing in his head. He endeavors not to think, but today there is no doubt that things didn’t go his way. Sure, he had expected and prepared himself for unwanted guests, and has sworn with himself that he won’t engage with anyone until he reaches his destination. He doesn’t have the heart to leave someone behind, he has always known, and as much as he had planned to steer away from problems and hindrances— they came to him. Deterrent, and a handicap on a long-term, what if Wonshik had no fight in him? What if he brought him to his death?

He moves again, hand reaching for the baby resting on Wonshik’s chest, fingers fleetingly passing his cheek and it takes a second to register something before panic floods in and it takes all of him to rein a shout in.

“Wonshik! He’s not breathing—” the man is startled awake with a flourish, and he catches the baby in his arms, cradles him, close to hysteria when he can’t catch any breaths, “Sanghyuk isn’t breathing,” Hakyeon’s eyes fill with tears, but he doesn’t cry, heart pounding in his ears when Wonshik shoves him away. “Shut up, shut up.”

Wonshik looks murderous.

Enraged.

“What did you do?! What the fuck did you to him?” he’s yelling, and Hakyeon calms his breathes before he even attempts to get closer, Wonshik still holding the baby in his arms, clearly in shock— and incensed.

“You killed him!”

Hakyeon stumbles back at the fiery accusation, his eyes glinting with fear, “Wonshik.. I didn’t kill him.” Hakyeon presumes he must have likely died of cold and not being fed, and his heart clenches. Wonshik doesn’t seem as reasonable as he is, breathing hard and still staring at him as if he wants to slaughter him on the spot.

His mind works quick and he wants to make for a run when Wonshik’s face crumples, and he starts tearing up, kissing the crown of the baby’s head again and again, shaking on his legs before he falls to his knees, the bit that was left of his world collapsing in front of his very eyes. Hakyeon’s heartbeats abate, and he slackens until he falls to the ground as well, tears sliding down his cheeks, and he breathes in.

 

 

Wonshik’s heart breaks when he realizes they can’t even give the boy a proper burial, the ground too stiff, their bare hands not near enough to dig; he places the baby at the base of a tree trunk in a less open area they have found after one last kiss on his forehead, his heart tearing, any hope shriveling. Hakyeon is still beside him, even after his outburst. Wonshik doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Can we leave?” he questions, gruffily, taking Hakyeon’s hand before the other man can say ‘no’. It’s so selfish, but he doesn’t know if he wants to end his life, and with Hakyeon there he might not try to. He doesn’t tell Hakyeon that.

There is no sun today, the sky entirely white and it’s as calming as it is terrifying. They don’t walk, but run instead, Hakyeon pushing back the urge to tell Wonshik about the throb in his knee. He needs this, Hakyeon realizes, Wonshik needs to be as far away as possible from that place and Hakyeon, unwise he muses, follows him blindly. To his surprise, at the end of their sprint, they are out of the forest. There are a few houses on the horizon, and Hakyeon feels part scared, part elated.

Wonshik prods his waist when he sees him scrunch his face up. “What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly, and Hakyeon dismisses him with a hand and a shake of head, but in the next moment he’s crouching, a yelp of pain rushing out when he grips his knee.

“Your knee—”

“I’m fine,” Hakyeon bites out, but Wonshik is unconvinced. He doesn’t pry. But there’s been something burning at him, and he knows they have to settle it before they move. It’s compulsory.

“Will you give me the scissors?” It’s not about him just fighting whatever they might find down this road, they both know, even if Wonshik words it differently, the real question is, _will you let me stay with you?_

Hakyeon doesn’t think much. Maybe he should have.

“Yeah,” and he’s reaching for it in his pockets, plucks it out and hands it to Wonshik without any other word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and Happy New Years! 
> 
> About this chapter, would you say Wonshik's outburst was reasonable? Do you think Hakyeon trusted too easily? Any inklings about Sanghyuk's role in this, more in depth than "the man she loved most"? Just a little spoiler, I think he will be a rather important character ^^


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